Reflections Over a Bottle of Prosecco
by Laudine
Summary: One-shot, companion to Collide.  After the events of "Foresight" and with Jean's return, Isabel is worried that certain patterns might repeat themselves and that Logan might break his promises.


**Disclaimer: I don't own "Wolverine and the X-Men," but Isabel Sayre/Sylphide and all original characters are mine. This is a one-shot companion to "Collide," meant to break up some serious writer's block. It's supposed to follow "Foresight." It can also be read as a standalone.**

**Reflections Over a Bottle of Prosecco**

_Happiness hit her like a train on a trackComing towards her stuck still no turning backShe hid around corners and she hid under bedsShe killed it with kisses and from it she fledWith every bubble she sank with her drinkAnd washed it away down the kitchen sink_ -from the song "Dog Days Are Over" by Florence and the Machine

I didn't think I'd be mad when Jean returned.

But I was.

It was almost a nice thing, her being an afterthought. Because look at what occurred as a result of it. Logan moved on. We were as happy as we thought we could be. And then she came back and things got turned upside down. I never thought I would be jealous or insecure, but I was.

Logan picked up on my edginess. It's to the point now, he can pick up on anything with me and I can pick up on anything with him. We talked about it fleetingly a few times, but then he always would get interrupted because there was something he needed to see to or Hank had found something interesting or Jean had tracked down another of the stray X-Men using Cerebro. He'd been looking for that klepto Cajun for awhile, the one who reeked of Pierre Lacoste cologne and strong cigarettes and who thought he was so suave and cool with the ladies. Gambit, as he called himself, was holed up in Shreveport, and Logan was taking Rogue and Storm along to talk him into joining up. He left Storm in charge-thank God, because I still panic when I'm put in a leadership position that involves anything other than what I did in my sorority-and took the _Blackbird _and promised he'd be back by morning. And he's almost always back when he says he means to be anymore.

So I bought a bottle of Prosecco and sat out on my balcony on front of the full moon and to collect my senses, I guess. It was the first time the moon had been full since Jean's return. It was calming, and I could feel the silver rays reaching out for me and my skin soaking them in. I could feel a sort of music inside of me as it shined down, that sort of thing that resonates within you when you come to a place that's ancient and still holds great power wanting to be harnessed.

It was so easy to peer over my balcony and see them walking beside each other, auras tinged with red and pink and a little bit of light blue as they strolled hand-in-hand out to the Japanese garden. And I could still see it, that residue of orange and white that would always remain in her aura, the colors that marked her and made her a beacon should the Phoenix Force ever wish to return to her. But that wasn't what I was frightened of.

I was frightened of Jean being back, being a sort of accidental-on-purpose interloper who would draw Logan into that game again and make things like they had been before the blast. A game which I had borne witness to but had never been part of and had never wanted to be part of.

Of course my intuition told me that it was impossible, that Jean was overjoyed to be back with Scott and was thrilled that Logan and I were happy with each other. But that insecurity still remained with me. I don't know, I guess it's because I've always been used to men leaving. My dad leaving and then my ex-husband cheating on me, and Logan always leaving when things got too much for him to handle-the old Logan, that is.

Logan had made it perfectly clear to me a thousand times over that if Jean ever came back, he would stay with me. Because he loved me. _Me._

And once again, Jean had chosen Scott because there was no other man for her, _this time_, and Scott was the one she wanted.

So there was nothing to be insecure about.

Logan did come back that night, with the klepto Cajun in tow. There had been no fight, it had been too easy, he explained as he took the glass from me and sipped at what was in it. It was almost like the Cajun was surrendering to the inevitable: be hunted down by the Scarlet Witch's minions or by the U.S. government or join the X-Men. And Gambit chose wisely.

"You think he's gonna work out?" Logan asked me as I filled up the glass again and as we took turns sipping from it.

"I don't know. Maybe," I said. "Did you ask Scott?'

"Summers is good with it."

"And Ororo?"

"She told me to go after him in the first place." He stood up. "You want me to stay?"

"Since you're here."

He grinned at this and disappeared downstairs for a few bottles of Molson Canadian. I was flipping through my DVDs to see if there was anything he might want to watch, a good Hitchcock movie we could both agree on or maybe some screwball comedy or film noir. He set the bottles on the bistro table outside and opened his drawer to take out his pajama pants.

"No movies," he said, and I turned to him questioningly. "You an' I, we need to talk."

I closed the drawer of my DVD stand and watched him as he peeled off his uniform and methodically put on his pajama pants. "So what do you want to talk about?" I asked him carefully, watching as his aura was tinged with the deep red of someone who had something to hash out and with the dirty gray overlay of trying to hold something back. Trying to hold what back?

"About the way you an' Jeannie are gettin' along." He went outside and opened one of the beer bottles and took a long pull from it.

"Jean and I are getting along just fine," I said lightly, rising up to my feet and approaching him.

"Not accordin' to Jean. Or Kitty. Or Hank." He eyed me levelly and I poured myself some more Prosecco and watched as the deep red muddied as he became a little angry with me. "Or Rogue."

"What makes them think that?" I asked him.

"Will you quit tryin' to be all cute about it? It ain't funny, Isabel, and it ain't good for the team."

I shook my head and glared at him. "I'm not being cute about anything," I shot back. "I just get nervous around her."

"Nervous?" he echoed, his face clouding. "Nervous about what?"

I bit my lip. What was I nervous about? I was nervous about a lot of things, about the residual effects of what had happened to Jean, and about whether or not the game would start again, the game of two dominant men fighting over a certain woman, and whether or not I'd be left in the dust.

"I thought we talked about this," he said, sounding a little hurt, maybe angry that I didn't have enough faith in him. "I thought I told you even if she came back, I wasn't goin' anywhere. An' you don't believe me?"

"I do," I insisted. "But sometimes people make promises, and the promises sometimes get broken…"

"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath. "You think I'd go through all that shit again?"

I inhaled slowly. "You wouldn't…even if…?"

"Like I said, I thought we talked about this," he said, drawing me close to him. "I'm with you, and you make me happy. I love _you_. Isn't that enough?"

I nodded into his shoulder, tears beginning to fall "You know it is."

"Then just don't think about how things were Think of us now. Because we're happy."

He was right.

Because we were happy.

And I stopped thinking so much about what had happened before and started thinking about the here and now.

Because that was the only thing that mattered.


End file.
